


Old Familiar Halls

by forcepair



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcepair/pseuds/forcepair
Summary: Moira MacTaggert still does not remember the events that occurred after infiltrating the Hellfire Club that lead to discovering the human genetic mutation, especially her involvement with the mutants during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Failing to report on those events, her superiors are skeptical for her credibility as a federal agent for the CIA that will eventually earn her way back to a desk-bound occupation. Determined for redemption, Moira explores the fragments of her memories that lead her to a familiar mutant from Oxford University-and unknowingly gaining mutant powers after meeting an orphaned mutant in Scotland.





	1. prologue

**_Moira_**   ** _had_**   ** _always_**   ** _promised_**   ** _herself to achieve all the great things this world has to offer._**  She was groomed to have ambition running throughout her veins. Her proud aristocratic parents taught her to relinquish the feeling of determination and striving. But when a high toll sent her career crashing down the CIA's basement, the secretarial pool, she had no choice but to find something to fuel her hope in the midst of the aggravating patriarchy inside the agency.

 

The attack on HQ, the beach on Cuba, and the Hellfire Club— those had been going around through Moira MacTaggert's mind lately, regardless if she was asleep or awake. Everything seemed to be perfect when her eyes landed on that prestigious file she found that night inside Sebastian Shaw's study. The Americans could use those files against USSR, and the Cold War would be finally over. Especially, her discovery of human genetic mutation could leap the agency's science division to develop broader knowledge. Then, she would have made the agency and country flourish in triumph. 

 

Even if she could not remember the events after Hellfire Club in Las Vegas, Moira knew herself completely well enough to guess what was her next action. She would have called in an expert in human genetic mutation. Gaining resources were her traditional tactic that is proven to be extremely advantageous.

 

But McCone, like the arrogant bastard he was, asserted that Moira had smoked again those funky cigarettes that adolescents described as  _it was to die for_. Of course, no one was out of their minds to question him, so nobody was willing to risk their careers to save Moira's own career.

 

Leaving no choice at all, Moira had to save herself by remembering her time with Charles Xavier, whom the agency could not trace as if he vanished with the wind.

 

Moira never remembered what had happened exactly. All was left was the fragmented memories that provide her little help to form details like the weather, voices, and emotions.

 

And, that damned kiss was worth the aggravation.


	2. o n e | nebula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /ˈnebyələ/
> 
> noun
> 
> 1\. (in general use) any indistinct bright area in the night sky, for example, a distant galaxy.

" ** _Look, the NSA and NRO are asking questions._**  The agency's reputation will be ruined because our witness has amnesia, but the last thing that she can remember before waking up is a kiss—  _Sit_  down, MacTaggert— like this is some goddamned fairy tale," CIA Director McCone said as he slammed the manila folder shut, "This meeting is over."

 

When she was out of the conference room, Moira mustered all her strength to keep herself from faltering, especially when her eyes started to ache with tears. Her block heels clacking against the tiled floors caught the attention of her colleagues and created a ripple of conversation among them. 

 

Her occupation, a field agent in the Directorate of Plans, was over because her superiors had made the decision final: she will be in the secretarial pool.

 

Taking a sharp turn to the left, the vacant hallway provided an opportunity for Moira to talk. "If women aren't welcomed in the CIA, then why was I recruited in the first place?!" she said whilst clenching her fists.

 

Levene followed closely behind her; usually, he would give Moira his comment on anything whenever they would converse. Given with her situation, she concluded that his silence was his way of listening to her side. Levene promptly utilized the water fountain to his advantage as he listened.

 

Moira went on with her wild, impassioned statements, "As far as I remember, I was in Scotland when the CIA came to my door. I have been doing my job ever since then, and I deserve better than being back in the typing pool." She shifted her weight on her shoulders as she leaned on the wall. Still, after all the bitterness she harbored, Moira relied on Levene as her moral compass. "What am I going to do, Levene?"

 

He pushed his glasses on his nose bridge. To be honest, Levene did not like Moira as a person that much. Well, he respected her, and that's a given. But when it comes to pieces of advice, Levene was the best person for optimism.  

 

"The director's furious. I think it's best to follow and agree. You get your own desk, you sit all day in front of a typewriter. Or, maybe rearrange files alphabetically, too— I mean you're good at organizing," he said.

 

Moira winced. She moved away from the wall, abruptly straightening her posture. "And, what's next? Trained in the arts of fetching and providing coffee? That's not the future that I want." 

 

She walked away, but Levene caught up. 

 

"Then, endure, that's what you do best, right? Not all that we want in life would be granted, Moira. I think you should be old enough to accept it," Levene sighed. He shrugged. "Dunno, just try it. Maybe it's not as bad as they say. Oh, don't give me that look, Moira. I'm just trying to see the upside of your job."

 

After throwing her superiors an excuse for being ill, she went straight home. She was about to unlock the door to her apartment, then she saw something left carefully balanced on the mail slot. It was a saddle-stitched brochure. Her eyes fluttered. She immediately recognized the embossed university crest on the top center. Below it was the words that made her take a slow, deep breath of shock.

 

 

_**HUMAN GENETIC MUTATION: CHILDREN OF THE ATOMIC ERA** _

_**The Romanes Lecture** _

**Delivered in the Sheldonian Theatre**

_**7 December, 1962** _

**By**

_**Victoria Vera Collins** _

 

 

Moira was haunted by another dé jà vu.  As if, she was asked to hope for the best again, even if there were fragments of blurred memories that kept haunting her while sleeping. Now, she did not mind to stumble and lose her way because strange coincidences kept on happening around her. 

* * *

 

 

Moira pieced together those fragments that took her days to form an abstract concept, like forming an obscure sentence using words unlikely combined. She was brought to her former school in England, the University of Oxford. Visiting the university was rather odd. Moira felt she had been there recently rather than years. 

 

Though, the feeling held a green light. She might be getting closer to Charles Xavier, not in the sense that he studied there, but it was something more. Moira leaned unto her instincts to find out why.

 

Glancing above wherein Streater's hand-painted fresco was, a surge nostalgia for the unknown washed over Moira. Something resonated with her as she had recalled the allegorical depiction of arts and sciences descending unto the university to banish ignorance. 

 

A  fog had been lifted.

 

She shuddered. The way her heart behaved erratically had mustered fragmented memories— blurred names and places, a round of applause, genetic mutation. 

 

One of the front seats were too uncomfortable to occupy. The close proximity with the speaker might overwhelm her and could cause a scene. She opted to be seated at the back side. 

 

With a shaky breath, she skimmed through the lecture handout, the very own thesis of Charles Xavier, which was the backbone of tonight's lecture.

 

Moira frowned. She raised her head, scanning the audience vigilantly.

 

"He's got to be here," she whispered to herself. As she had researched thoroughly the week beforehand this lecture, the professor was a close associate of Charles during their doctorate degree years in genetics. Their similarities in ideas and beliefs crossed their paths together; so, it was fairly sensible that he was present.

 

As she was about to turn another page, the audience in front had settled down, and the silence implied the lecture was about to begin.

 

The emcee was the current Vice-chancellor, a middle-aged woman standing on the podium. She announced to the hundred guests, "Ladies, gentlemen, colleagues, guests, and friends of the University. . . It is a great pleasure and honor to welcome you to the 72nd Romanes Lecture at the University of Oxford; it's a lecture that has been given annually since 1892— or at least annually as we possibly could, given with two world wars and occasional speaker illnesses."

 

After she went on with the historic details of the annual lecture, the Vice-Chancellor held up a back-issue of a Sunday newspaper with the headline:  _ **US ARMY CONFIRMS MUTANT INVOLVEMENT IN CUBA**_. Then she went over it to quote the article's lead paragraph before continuing with her opening remarks, "As you had heard, there was a recent  _mutant involvement_  in the crisis between USA and USSR in Cuba last two months ago. It is timely that our lecture will be given by a truly exceptional speaker, who was recognized with a Nobel Prize for her extensive research in human genetic mutation, the evolution of the human genome, in 1958. Professor Collins graduated at the age of seventeen with honors as the university's alumna in Harris Manchester College, where she eventually served as a one of our professors of human anatomy and genetics. Hopefully, she could do enlighten us on such things like missiles miraculously curving through the air, gates magically crushed without a single touch, mind readers, and shape-shifters. I am sure that all of you will agree that she is fitting as the evening's speaker since that she is speculated as one of them, given that she has a truly remarkable mind."

 

The audience nodded with enthusiasm while Moira perked up from her seat.

 

"Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, it's my very great pleasure, indeed, to invite Professor Victoria Collins to deliver the seventy-second Romanes Lecture. Professor Collins," the Vice-Chancellor acknowledged

 

A woman in her early-thirties advanced towards the platform with various applause behind her. As expected, the woman was Victoria Collins, wearing a black cocktail dress with chiffon sleeves. She scanned the audience with eyes gleaming. She had a charming smile that was enough to beguile Moira.

 

Their eyes met, and there was a sudden look of apprehension from Professor Collins; she looked like she had seen a ghost. As she had prepared her slides on the projector, she hovered the microphone near her lips.

 

"Glad that someone provided Xerox-copies of Xavier's thesis," she chuckled, seeing that some had the said thesis in their own hands; her eyes were twinkling while she tugged the sleeves of her dress. "God bless your soul, for that is your compass in tonight's talk."

 

Laughter echoed throughout the theater. 

 

Charles Xavier became the back burner after seeing Victoria Collins. There was something odd with how she felt with the professor as if she had seen a friend from childhood days. She could guarantee she had never met her, but an echo beckoned her to believe otherwise.

 

"Now, as you've had read in the handouts, or in my students and colleagues' cases, learned," the professor gestured at the crowd who nodded enthusiastically. "Mutation took us from single-celled organisms to being the dominant form of reproductive life here on the planet. This produces infinite forms of variations, all thanks to the occurrence of mutation."

 

Even at first glance, Professor Collins's bluish-gray eyes were astoundingly prominent; they seemed to hold the secret mysteries of the universe. Her confidence conveyed that she had the passion to speak about her insight in human genetic mutation, yet she failed to address the recent mutant involvement. It was clear that she was careful about avoiding to touch the subject; she could be afraid to be confronted about it.

 

Moira did not blame her, though, the professor was one of them after all— or at least college rumors had it. Professor Collins was protecting her kin's current anonymity, and Moira respected her decision. The less-evolved kin, Moira's kind, was afraid of different. Hopefully, Moira could change that if she had the chance to.

 

And there she was, hoping for the best again.

* * *

 

 

Before Moira could have known, the lecture ended when an applause had dragged her away from reverie. She checked the time on her wristwatch. It was  **9:51 PM**.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, Professor of Genetics, Victoria Vera Collins," the Vice-Chancellor proudly recognized once again.

 

Then, people emerged in a haste, coming from different directions, to gather around the professor. Distinguished alumni and students, mainly composed of biology majors, had the opportunity to interview her, who in turn earnestly answered each and every question regarding her lecture with the familiar passion lighting her eyes. Some even had the opportunity to have their lecture handouts be autographed.

 

Moira used variations of polite phrases to excuse herself while she pushed her way through the crowd. No one seemed to care about she had stepped on their toes or had been shoved aside, everyone's attention was centered on the professor. Once Moira reached a spacious area, she was almost near her.

 

Moira moved closer, turning sideways so she could squeeze through the spaces among the crowd. "Congratulations, Professor Collins. I'm Moira MacTaggert," she said as she reached the professor.

 

"How kind of you. I can sign your handouts if you fancy— " Vera turned to her. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth slightly gaped open.

 

People slowly decreased in number, and eventually, it was the two of them left in the theater.

 

Moira frowned when Vera had gasped. She pretended to not notice. "That would be great, but I'm here on business. Do you have a minute?" Lecture handouts signed by the world's leading geneticist should be such an honor, but Moira's focus was on saving her career.

 

Vera hesitated. She did not welcome the idea of talking to Moira, to the point that she looked to be afraid of something.

 

"Please, this means a lot to me," Moira pleaded. She could not bear to lose her opportunity to remember more. The woman that was standing before her was a direct associate of Charles Xavier, along with the mutants Moira  _might_  have met nearly two months ago. "Just a moment would be fine."

 

She hesitated before sighing. "Alright."

 

Silently, Moira passed a manila folder. "I'm with the CIA," she prompted slowly and sternly. "It'll be a lot of help if you coordinated with me."

 

"Have I done something wrong?" Vera scanned the file containing Moira's report about from infiltrating Hellfire Club to the last encounter with Charles Xavier. After absorbing the contents, she glanced at Moira, who was studying every move. The two of them sat in the front seats.

 

"Everything's fine," she waved her off. "Look, I know you can read my mind."

 

"Miss MacTaggert," Vera was taken aback by Moira's claim. he had returned the file before she stood abruptly. "I regret to say that I don't know such things about what you have said."

 

Moira took the file, she stood as the professor did. "Professor, I'm only here to convince you."

 

"Then, do enlighten me. What do you want me to do?"

 

"All I want you to do is, to tell the truth."

 

The professor started to walk away. Moira, without contemplating her decision, grabbed the professor's wrist. She gripped the professor's wrist in a meaningful manner. As if gripping it would lead to her opportunity to rise up from being demoted. "Professor, we don't want this to end up in an aggressive negotiation."

 

Vera's gray eyes turned misty for a moment, then glassy. Her gaze on Moira was deep, though as if it was piercing through her eyes to enter her mind. Her brown eyes grew wide as she saw something strange on her grip unto the professor.

 

Between their hands was a faint wispy grey light glowing. The light expanded and surrounded them. It curled, faded, then thickened. Threatening to enter through her forehead, her entire body was consumed by the wispy light. A pleasant airy feeling surged through her body, and she entered into a trance-like state.

 

She started to see things. Fragments of memories began to muster again, this time more vivid than before. One significant memory was a blurry English man, who smelled like the pint of bitter Moira drank during her college days. "Something tells me, you already know the answer to your question," he said in a distorted voice.

 

Startled, Moira jerked her hand away. She scanned her now empty hand, after which she glanced at the professor's wrist. The light slowly dissipated through the professor's skin. Glancing around the light was nowhere to see, too.

 

"What's your mutation?" she demanded softly, her voice, rather than with authority, was filled with fascination. She failed to sound bossy because she was too amazed at witnessing a mutated power, and ironically, almost triggered her legendary migraines.

 

"I have an extrasensory perception which is clairsentience, allowing me to have precognition, retrocognition, and many others. . ."

 

Moira blinked, barely understanding a few jargon. She drew back slowly in fear. From the corner of her eye, the door could be crossed in four hasty strides.

 

Although, Professor Collins sensed her desire to escape. "In short, I can control you. Forgive me, Moira dear."

 

Again, the wispy light surrounded her by a wave of the professor's fingers. This time, it was on a rapid pace that Moira barely even noticed that it robbed her control over her body and few senses like touch and sight. Someone took over, as expected it was the professor. For some reason, she did not retaliate; the sensation placed her in a euphoric trance that made her think that her body is feather-like. Its hold seemed to be a solid vice on her voluntary muscles, she could not fight it back, and she could not even open her mouth to call for help.

 

"Xavier, we can't let her follow me," she heard the professor's voice echo from a far distance. Although, it was odd since Professor Collins was just a near proximity than what her ears seemed to perceive. She sounded cautious and angry, also genuinely concerned at the same time. "You can't control her when I'm already bloody doing it! She doesn't have to forget, Xavier. . . Of course, I value that, but this time she won't—"

 

Moira's legs started to walk towards the left of their own accord. She felt that her legs were cutting across the water.

 

It was dark and cold as they left the theater, the streets were being maintained to clear off the snow. The cold air stung on Moira's face, giving a soft red blush on her cheeks. As if it sensed her discomfort, her coat clung to her skin and gave off warmth than before; it might be the work of the professor.

 

She kept on talking to  _someone_ , but nobody was to be seen. From what Moira had heard, it was Charles, but the most peculiar thing that he was not present. Professor Collins maybe had the ability to contact one's mind. "I have seen endless possibilities of her remembering and tracking us, I'm afraid she'll end up risking her life—What I mean is this is the safest way for Moira!" She sighed. "Contact my sister, I need her here in a jiffy. . ."

 

After she said those words, a wormhole ripped the thin air. Before Moira could even register what occurred next, Professor Collins waved her fingers over her eyes.

 

And there was darkness as her body became faint.

* * *

 

 

Moira awakened slowly. The morning light that poured in from the windows gently stirred her to consciousness, her gaze shifting from blurred darkness to the sunlit features of the bedroom with familiar Mackintosh's style architecture with hand-painted wall frescoes. Her palm hovered on her face, shielding the bright mellow light from reaching her eyes. Moira sat up, brushing away strands if her auburn hair away from her mouth.

 

As the bleariness disappeared, she realized one of the most extraordinary things was that Professor Collins had brought her to her parents' estate.


End file.
